Her Song, His Heart

Breaking point

The moonlight filtered through the curtains, casting soft shadows on the floor. Mannon sat on the edge of her bed, her fingers pressed to her temples, her breathing shallow. The voices in her head were louder tonight—stronger, more insistent.

It wasn’t the first time, but it felt different this time. She had been holding onto her composure, forcing herself to believe she could keep it all together. But the pressure of everything—the career, the people who depended on her, the expectations—was wearing her down. And now, the voices, like ghosts from the deepest corners of her mind, had come back.

"You’re not enough. They’ll all leave you. You’re broken. You're not good enough for them."

Each whisper clawed at her mind, making it harder to breathe, to think, to function. Her hands trembled, and tears pooled in her eyes, threatening to spill over.

She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block it out, trying to control it. But it didn’t work. The voices grew louder. The pressure intensified. Her chest felt tight, as though it was closing in on her. She felt like she was suffocating.

And then, without realizing it, she screamed.

“Make it stop! Please! Make it stop!” The words echoed through the room, frantic and raw, as her hands clutched at her hair, pulling at the strands in desperation.

She wanted it to end. She needed it to stop.

---

Chan's Intervention

Chan had been in the kitchen, going over some paperwork for the next show, when he heard the screams. It was only a second—just enough to send a chill down his spine. He dropped the papers and rushed down the hallway to her room, not needing to think twice about it.

When he reached her door, his heart skipped a beat.

Mannon was on the floor, her back against the wall, rocking back and forth, her sobs echoing through the space. Her face was twisted in distress, her hands tangled in her hair, pulling at it in a desperate attempt to silence the voices.

“Mannie?” Chan’s voice was barely above a whisper, but it cut through the haze of panic in the room.

Her head jerked up, eyes wide and wild, filled with fear. Her breath was ragged, tears streaking down her cheeks. “Please… please… make them stop,” she begged, her voice broken.

Chan’s heart ached for her. He couldn’t stand seeing her like this—vulnerable, helpless, as though she were fighting a battle that no one could see. He had known about her schizophrenia for a while now, but seeing it in this way, hearing the pain in her voice, made it all the more real.

Without a second thought, he dropped to his knees beside her, gently taking her trembling hands in his. His grip was firm, but gentle, a tether in the storm.

“Mannie, listen to me,” he said, his voice soft but strong, “You’re not alone. I’m here. You’re safe. It’s okay. Just breathe with me. Okay?”

Her eyes flickered with uncertainty, but she nodded slowly, trying to focus on his words.

Chan took a deep breath, pulling her hands gently, guiding her to match his slow, steady breathing. “In… and out… slowly… You’re not alone, Mannie. I’m right here.”

It wasn’t easy—her breathing was still erratic, her body shaking with the aftershock of her episode—but gradually, the storm inside her began to quiet. The voices started to fade, and the overwhelming fear that had gripped her heart began to loosen.

She closed her eyes, leaning her forehead against his chest, trying to steady herself. Her chest heaved with each breath, but the grip of panic had loosened, and her body was no longer trembling as violently.

“I don’t know how much longer I can do this, Chan,” she whispered into his shirt, her voice muffled by the fabric. “I don’t know how much longer I can keep pretending that I’m fine.”

He could feel her tears soaking through his shirt, but he didn’t care. He held her tighter, his voice low and soothing.

“You don’t have to pretend anymore. Not with me. You’re not alone, Mannie. We’re in this together.”

She sniffled, wiping her face with the back of her hand, but it wasn’t enough to hide the raw vulnerability in her eyes. “I’m scared, Chan. I’m so scared that one day, I won’t be able to come back from it. That I’ll lose control.”

“I know, I know,” he murmured, brushing her hair away from her face, his touch soft but steady. “But you’re not alone. And I’ll always be here for you. Always.”

For the first time in a long while, Mannon allowed herself to lean into his comfort, letting his presence anchor her. The storm inside her wasn’t gone, but for the first time, she felt like maybe it was possible to survive it—if she didn’t have to face it alone.

---

The Aftermath

The next morning, Mannon woke up feeling like she had been through a storm. Her body ached, her mind felt foggy, and there was a lingering heaviness in her chest. But as she glanced across the room, she saw Chan sitting at the edge of her bed, his eyes full of concern but also something else—unwavering support.

“Mannie, how are you feeling?” His voice was gentle, as though he didn’t want to startle her.

She hesitated for a moment before nodding. “I’m… better, I think. Still a little shaky, but... I’m okay. Thanks to you.”

Chan gave her a soft smile, his hand resting on hers. “You’re strong, Mannie. But you don’t have to be strong all the time. It’s okay to have moments like that. You just have to remember that you don’t have to face it alone.”

“I know,” she whispered, feeling a tear slip down her cheek. “I just don’t know what to do anymore.”

He squeezed her hand reassuringly. “We’ll figure it out, okay? Together.”

For a moment, they sat in silence, the weight of the night’s events lingering in the air, but with Chan there, holding her hand, it didn’t feel quite so heavy.

And for the first time in a long while, Mannon allowed herself to believe that maybe she could survive this—one day at a time.